When I Grow Too Old To Dream
by missingJane
Summary: Patrick and Teresa are senior citizens. Teresa has fallen ill and Patrick is heart broken, bravely trying to carry on. How will he deal with a life without his beautiful Teresa?


I know I promised to never write a death fiction, but this idea popped into my brain, prompted by an old song, and I just had to write it. Sorry if it makes you sad.

When I Grow Too Old To Dream

The nursing staff in the long term care unit watched as the dignified man strolled down the hallway towards his wife's room, right on time. There wasn't a day that went by that he wasn't there to sit and hold her hand, tell her stories, reminisce about their lives together, and catch up on news about their dearest friends.

Patrick Jane was remarkably attractive, even at 79 years old. He had a full head of greyish/blonde hair, smartly styled. His intelligent eyes were framed by wrinkles which came from a lifetime of smiling, not frowning. He always wore a finely tailored suit, in the latest but classic style. Some days he wore a vest with his suit jacket, which looked old fashioned but on him, very elegant. He explained to the staff that Teresa always liked it when he wore a vest, and so he did. His back was still straight but he walked with a limp, apparently a result of a bullet wound from his earlier years when he worked for the FBI. The nurses were very impressed with him, not that he ever talked about his exciting years fighting crime alongside his wife. No, that information was all over social media and had been ever since it was a relatively new medium way back in the early 2000's. Now of course he was retired, had been for many many years even though he had worked teaching new agents how to 'read' suspects long after he should have retired in his mid-60's. His need to be busy and productive let him continue in his chosen field until his energy just couldn't keep up with his will power.

His beautiful wife Teresa Lisbon Jane had been his boss, partner and finally his wife. Their partnership was almost legendary in FBI circles. He had a large photo of her in her late 30's pinned over her bed, to remind the nursing staff just who they were taking care of. This was Teresa. Be good to her.

Jane carried a photo album under his arm today, one of many he and Teresa had filled over the years. They had produced 3 amazing children, one son, and a pair of twin girls. Their son Morgan and daughters Claire and Teresa were the loves of their lives and filled their home with joy and fun. Their son was a doctoral student, studying the brain in hopes of improving care for Alzheimer's patients. Their daughter Claire was a professor of linguistics in Texas and their other daughter Teresa was an engineer with the aerospace industry. All the kids had found fulfilling jobs to make the world a better place and Patrick couldn't have been prouder of how they turned out.

The door to Teresa's room was ajar so Jane entered quietly. He went over to her bed and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Hello darling. Sleep well?" he asked. She was sleeping peacefully and he took his seat next to her. He knew she would hear him even if her eyes never opened. He took the photo album and placed it on the side of the bed, turning the pages as he described each photo he came across, laughing at some, sighing in regret at others. How time had flown since they were taken, he remarked. He became engrossed in telling Teresa about his day and how their neighbour had a new puppy that he had made friends with. Patrick tried to keep himself busy at home, but with travelling back and forth to the convalescent home twice a day, there was little time for him to do much else with his days. It was worth it though, to keep Teresa happy and safe. That's all he had ever wanted, to keep her safe, and to love her.

He felt he had succeeded. He looked up from his book and saw a small smile on her face. Did she hear him tell that story about Cho and Rigsby? Or was she smiling about the puppy next door? No matter, she was happy, that's all that mattered. Jane stayed for an hour chatting with Teresa, then kissed his wife again. It was time for him to go so that she could be taken care of by her nurses. He promised to return in a while, as usual. He made his way down the hall and waved to the nurses as he passed them. They watched him go with a smile and a sigh of sadness. Such love was a rare thing these days...Mr. Jane loved his wife so much it almost hurt to see his unwavering devotion to her.

Since her brain aneurysm, she had not opened her eyes or spoken to Patrick again, and that was 6 months ago. He never gave up hope that she would regain consciousness even though the doctors all told him it was not possible. Meh, doctors...what did they know? He was sure he saw her smile today. One day she would open her eyes and he would have his Teresa back. He just had to be patient.

Patrick drove his car to his favourite cafe and ordered a tea and a bowl of soup. His appetite wasn't what it used to be but then again, he didn't work up much of an appetite these days. He stayed there for an hour, then spent a some time in the library. He had never gotten over his love of books and his encyclopedic knowledge of the most bizarre facts still amazed people who never assumed this gentleman was such a vast repository of information. In his earlier days he had killed people, out of necessity. But he had saved many more. He hoped it would all balance out in the end. That was a different time in his life, one best left in the past. Checking his watch, he left the library and made his way back to Teresa. When he arrived on her floor, there was a great flurry of activity in her room. He stood back watching in anguish as doctors and nurses ran into her room and shouted orders for her care. A kind nurse guided Patrick to a chair to wait for word on Teresa. He was so scared. She was fine when he left, he was sure of it!

Fifteen minutes felt like a hour but soon a young doctor came and found a shaken Patrick sitting alone in the hall. He gently touched his shoulder and gave him the news that Patrick steadfastly refused to accept.

Teresa was gone. She had had a heart attack and couldn't be revived. Jane looked at the doctor as if he was speaking a strange new language. What was he trying to say about Teresa? How was she?

Dead?

No. Not Teresa.

A warm hand held Jane's and guided him up. A nurse was speaking to him, asking him if he wanted to see Teresa.

"Yes, of course...she's expecting me" he said, straightening his jacket and running a hand through his grey/blonde hair.

"Yes Mr. Jane. You can stay with her for as long as you want" said the nurse, but Jane was already on his way to his beautiful wife's room. When he got there she looked as sweet as ever. Her silver hair was fanned out on the pillow and she looked like she was having a lovely dream. A nurse came in and offered Jane a glass of water.

"Thank you, very kind of you" he muttered, holding the glass while gazing at Teresa. He touched her face and rubbed her chest to rouse her. She didn't wake.

"Teresa...I'm here" he said softly. He stared intently at her still face, willing her to open her eyes, give him a smile and say it was all a mistake.

He waited.

After a few minutes he eased himself down into his chair and felt a tear slide down his cheek. She was gone.

Jane sat for a long while, gazing at his wife as his tears finally overtook him. His body shook and heaved with the sobs that wracked his slim frame. He had held them back for months, never giving up the hope that Teresa would some day come back to him and open her eyes. Now that hope was dashed and he was empty. If hope was a thing that could be weighed and measured, he was very much lighter now than when he got up this morning.

The mighty Pocket Rocket, Teresa Lisbon Jane, was dead. Jane had never subscribed to her unwavering faith in a merciful God, but for her sake, he sincerely wished that she was now standing in His presence, happy and well. Patrick sat holding Teresa's hand for a good long time, until he had come to grips with her passing. Then he stood up and wiped his face with his handkerchief, neatly folding it back into a square before he tucked it into his jacket pocket. He carefully took a small envelope out of his pocket. Patrick had been carrying it for months now, but had never touched it except to move it from jacket to jacket. He tore it open and poured a small amount of powder into the glass of water and swirled it around. He knew people who knew people, and they had supplied him with the powder that he so desperately wanted for this eventuality. As it dissolved, he made his way around the room and lowered the railing on the left side of the bed. Carefully, he sat on the bed next to his beloved wife and drank the water til the glass was empty. He put it down on the table, then swung his legs up and onto the bed. Reaching for Teresa, he pulled her into his arms and embraced her like he used to every night when they went to bed. He stroked her hair and told her again how much he loved her. He got more comfortable, sliding down onto the bed and lay next to his wife as he grew drowsy. He remembered a story he told her once about his time as a carny and regaled her with his tale of hiding from Pete when it was time to wash the elephant. A smile settled on Jane's face as he felt more and more relaxed, holding his wife and remembering some of his best days chasing bad guys at the CBI and FBI. A heaviness pulled his eyes closed but he kept whispering to his love. In time, he grew quiet, his breathing becoming shallower and shallower as his hand lost its grip on Teresa's hand.

A nurse walked down the hallway and poked her head into Teresa's room to see how Mr. Jane was doing and to ask if he needed anything. What she saw drew a sharp gasp from her throat.

Patrick lay curled up next to his wife, their lifeless bodies entwined in each other's arms. Jane had planned for this day ever since Teresa had fallen ill. The death of his first wife, Angela, and his daughter Charlotte all those years ago when he was young, had almost killed him. He couldn't go through that again. Now, with Teresa gone, he couldn't imagine life without her. His grief knew no bounds, so he had joined her.

No one knew for sure why Patrick Jane died the same day as his wife. His heart was still strong and his general health was excellent. His family, friends and the doctors who examined his body, assumed it must have been grief. Grief had killed the old man. What they couldn't know was that the poison he took was carefully chosen to take his life gently and efficiently without leaving a trace. As in all things, Patrick knew what he was doing.

The funeral was a celebration of two amazing lives. Between agents from the FBI in Austin, co-workers from the old CBI days, representatives of police forces all across the country, friends and family, the church was overflowing with mourners who came to pay their respects and share memories of two of the strongest and best people they had ever met.

Before the funeral, the Jane children had gathered to go through their parent's things. When they went through one of Patrick's jackets, they found a folded sheet of paper with the words to a song that Jane had loved written on it in his graceful handwriting. It summed up his love for his beautiful wife and warmed their hearts. When they considered the words, they knew that one of them should read it at the funeral, and so they did. Claire was the one who could control herself the best during the ceremony, so Morgan and Teresa asked her to read the old old song lyrics as a way to show the love her parents felt for each other. She read:

We have been gay,

Going our way,

Life has been beautiful,

We have been young.

After you're gone,

Life will go on,

Like an old song we have sung.

When I grow too old to dream,

I'll have you to remember.

When I grow too old to dream,

Your love will live in my heart.

So kiss me, my sweet.

And so, let us part.

And when I grow too old to dream,

That kiss will live in my heart.

There wasn't a dry eye in the church as emotion overwhelmed the Jane's oldest and dearest friends. Kimball Cho, Wayne Rigsby and his wife Grace, Dennis Abbott, Jason Wylie, all sat together remembering their challenging and brilliant consultant and their friend Teresa. It was a day of remembrance and celebration even through the tears.

Teresa and Patrick's kids would refer to the song from time to time in the future, when they talked about their amazing parents and all they had accomplished in their lives. Morgan had the paper with Jane's handwritten lyrics framed and hung over the family piano which resided in Claire's house. The legacy of love, loyalty and duty lived on in the Jane family. The tears shed over the passing of Patrick and Teresa Jane were tears of sadness, but of gratitude and happy memories too. In the end, that's all Teresa and Patrick would have wanted.


End file.
